‘It’s fantastic. I can’t believe you cooked at this hour.’
‘Pasta’s quick. Help yourself. Would you like some wine?’ she asked, going to the fridge.
‘Yes, please.’ The pasta made a satisfying squelching sound as Luca dug in the serving tongs and took a generous helping.
Claire poured white wine for them both, then sat down opposite him and served herself. ‘I hope it’s all right.’
‘Mm.’ Luca swallowed a mouthful. It was divine – salty, creamy, unctuous, and incredibly soothing. ‘It’s amazing,’ he told her.
‘Good.’ She smiled.
‘So how come I’ve never seen you around before?’ he asked her.
‘Oh, I don’t know those people – just Yvonne. I work with her.’
‘Right, at the bookshop.’ He nodded. ‘Do you like it?’
‘It’s just a job. But the people are nice. And I love books, so I’d rather work in a bookshop than any other kind of shop.’
She took a gulp of her wine. She was so nervous. For some reason he found that really sexy. He wanted to soothe and calm her, to put her at her ease, but he wasn’t doing a very good job of it so far. He needed to get her into bed. He was good at making women relax there.
‘Do you work?’ she asked. ‘I mean apart from painting. Do you have a regular job?’
‘No, I’m just a starving artist – a living cliché. Hence no electricity.’
‘Right.’
‘But not so starving tonight.’ He grinned as he wound another forkful of pasta. ‘This really is fantastic. Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’ She ducked her head shyly.
‘Where do you usually hang out?’ he asked her.
‘Nowhere really. I mean, I don’t go to bars and clubs much. It’s not my thing.’
‘So what do you do for fun?’
‘Well, I…’ She fell silent, thinking. ‘I read, watch TV, go to the movies, meet up with friends,’ she said finally. ‘The usual, I suppose. Nothing very exciting.’
‘Do you live here alone?’ he asked.
‘No.’ She dropped her fork, took a sip of wine. ‘I live with my mother.’
‘Really? Your mother?’
‘Yes,’ she said. Her tone was defensive, as if she was sensitive about it, expecting him to mock.
Luca glanced towards the door. He hadn’t seen any evidence of someone else in the house. She must be in bed. ‘Well, that explains the house,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It just seems a bit… old-fashioned, I suppose. I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but I’d swear there was a doily in the bathroom. At least I think it was a doily. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one before.’
‘It’s just a doily – nothing to get your knickers in a twist about.’
‘Sorry, it wasn’t a criticism. I don’t mean to be unkind.’
‘It just comes naturally to you?’
